


tumblr football prompts

by depressotron5000



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: M/M, absolute filth, no seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:02:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21549406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depressotron5000/pseuds/depressotron5000
Relationships: Eric Dier/Harry Winks, Trent Alexander Arnold/Virgil Van Dijk
Kudos: 18





	1. Trent and Virgil

Trent is pouting, of course; what else is new? Virgil catches his eye mid-drink and laughs a little, shaking his head. He didn't even play tonight, Virgil thinks incredulously, didn't have Messi and that rat Suàrez run roughshod over him, and he's still sat there on the floor of his hotel room like he personally lost Liverpool the game. Virgil kind of admires Trent's ability to take everything personally, even though he's not sure if it's a sign of future captain responsibility or just pure youth solipsism.

(Probably a little of both.)

The gaffer's looking the other way tonight and Gini and Shaq scared up a frightening amount of alcohol considering Shaq supposedly doesn't even drink. Most of the team is milling about in Virgil's room, trying to convince themselves that the Champion's League isn't lost already. Hendo is cross-legged on the bed with the kids and Gini and Milly circled around him, conversing intensely. Ox and Robbo and Matip and Studge are getting tanked and laughing by the window. Moreno and Shaq and Bobby have congregated in the bathroom for no apparent reason and are yelling at anyone who dares to walk in to take a piss. Mo and Dejan are nowhere to be seen, obviously. Naby and Sadio are probably long since asleep. And Virgil is on the foot of his bed, locking eyes with Trent, sat sullenly on the floor by the TV nursing his drink.

Trent gulps the rest of his warm drink, something red and sticky-looking, and stands up, eyes still locked on Virgil's. "I'm going back to my room. 'S too loud in here." He walks out, leaving the hotel room door open, and Virgil follows him, with the excuse that he has to take care of the kid, make sure he's ok.

Trent glares back at him in the hallway. "I can get back to my room fine. It's only four doors down." He turns back around and Virgil stays a few steps behind him. Trent finds his door, unlocks it with his key card, goes to shut it behind him, then stops, pokes his head back out and looks out at Virgil, huffs a little. "Fine. Come in."

Virgil follows Trent in and shuts the door with an authoritative click. He reaches out, presses a palm to Trent's chest and backs him up against the wall. The only light is the thin streetlight from a few floors down shining though the half-open curtain. Trent's face is defiant, his eyes sparking, gleaming. "If I'd played tonight..."

Virgil presses him more firmly against the wall. "If you'd played tonight, we'd be even more fucked. Joe's twice the defender you are."

Trent squirms in fury, thrusting out his chin. "You want to see fucked?" he barks. "I'll show you -" Virgil leans in to shut him up, pressing his mouth to Trent's, forcing his lips open with his tongue, nipping and licking that stupid pout off his face, then pulls away abruptly.

"God, your mouth," Virgil breathes, the deep rumble of his voice going straight to Trent's dick. "You gotta be careful with that. It's gonna get you in trouble." He presses his lips underneath Trent's ear, runs the tip of his tongue down the side of his neck.

Trent hisses and pulls away. "This isn't the pitch. You're not the boss of me here."

"Aren't I?" Virgil reaches down, plays with the hem of Trent's t-shirt. Trent moans despite himself and raises his arms, letting Virgil slip his shirt off in one fluid motion. Virgil's lips trail over Trent's chest as he slips his trackies down and Trent steps out of them, completely exposed. "Get on the bed."

Trent still manages to smirk. "What's the magic word, Virg?"

"NOW."

Trent bites his lip and sidles along the wall, over to the bed, flopping onto it. Virgil takes a long moment to look at him; completely naked, his dick hard and waiting on his hipbone.

"You think you could've got us the win, huh?" Virgil growls. "You think you're just that special. You think you're such a fucking superstar." He kicks off his trainers, pulls off his pants in one rough motion. "I'll show you what you're good for." He kneels on the bed, straddling Trent, his long cock bobbing over Trent's face. "What are you waiting for? Put that mouth to good use for once."

Trent noses at Virgil's cock, shifts a little to get a better angle, then opens his mouth to take in Virgil's head. He slurps at it obscenely, running his tongue along the slit, and Virgil bites his lip to keep from making noise too soon. Trent takes a few more inches in, as much as he can in this position, and for a few minutes the only sounds in the room are Trent's sucking and Virgil's harsh breaths.

Then Virgil sits back, his dick popping out of Trent's mouth. "Sit up. Switch. Now." Trent sits up and Virgil turns to sit on the edge of the bed. Trent kneels on the floor between Virgil's legs and leans in, taking as much of Virgil's cock as he can in his mouth, reaching out a fist to move along the base. He has Virgil's cock completely surrounded. He reaches his other hand down to Virgil's balls and rolls them between his fingers, hears Virgil's breath hitch. Virgil reaches down and slaps away Trent's hand. "Not yet." After another few minutes, Virgil pulls his dick out of Trent's mouth, starts running his hand along the shaft and nods. Trent raises his hand back up, massages Virgil's balls as they tighten up to his body, and then finally, finally Virgil lets out a long groan as he comes in stripes over Trent's face and chest.

Trent stays kneeling for a long moment as Virgil's breathing steadies. Virgil finally sighs, sits up halfway, and says, "You want to come? Do it yourself, I worked my ass off today hauling Coutinho around the pitch while you sat on the fucking bench." Trent reaches a hand up to wipe at his face and Virgil slaps it away. "You can clean up when you're done."

Trent brings his hand to his aching cock and is coming over his fist within pitifully few strokes. Virgil leans over, grasps his shoulders and guides him to his feet. "Let's get you cleaned up." They walk together to the bathroom; Virgil runs warm water and watches Trent wipe himself down, his eyes softer than Trent expects.

They walk out together and Virgil pulls his pants back on, sits on the corner of the bed and ties his shoes. "Get some sleep," he tells Trent, "we need you fresh for Newcastle." Trent rolls bonelessly into bed and Virgil smooths the covers over him, kissing him on the lips once, twice, and then lets himself out.

Back in Virgil's room, the party is still in full swing. Matip shoves a glass of something indistinguishably brown into his hand, exclaiming that it's Gini's new signature cocktail. Virgil swallows it down all at once; he'll have to rest later.


	2. Harry and Eric

Eric Dier thought he'd be too exhausted to move after playing his first ninety minutes in forever, his first any minutes at the new stadium, but after the West Ham loss he was still keyed up, almost twitchy, like he needed to run ten miles to purge all his pent up feelings. He scrolled through all his congratulatory and sympathetic notifications but only one caught his eye: "fuckin brilliant, wished I could've been out there with u. come to mine?"

He showered in a flash, mumbled his way through a post-match interview, and in as little time as humanly possible was in Winks's doorway, kissing him breathlessly. Harry was so good at that, so pliant and needy, mouth begging to be explored with Eric's tongue. Eric had to almost shove Harry into the foyer, the door slamming behind them.

Eric pulled himself away from Harry's mouth, dusting kisses over his freckled cheeks, his delicate eyelids and lashes, his hands moving over Harry's back and cupping his ass. Harry moaned so freely and Eric was rock hard and ready when Harry pulled away, looked up at him with those clear, beautiful eyes and said, “god, I love your hands.”

Eric gulped. He could wait. “Let’s put them to good use, then.”

He fumbled at the button of Harry's terrible, pre-ripped jeans and pulled them down to his knees, followed by his boxer briefs. Eric brought one hand up to Harry's nipple, flicking at it as his other hand ghosted over Harry's hard-on. Harry whimpered as Eric reached down to his balls, rolling them gently between his fingers as he kissed Harry strongly and surely, their tongues licking into one another.

Eric pulled his mouth away abruptly and Harry whined, followed by an almost embarrassing wail as Eric's mouth met his other nipple and Eric's hand moved to his painfully hard and leaking cock.

Harry bit his lip and Eric was sure he was already thinking of unsexy things, Arsenal goals, Piers Morgan, and he kept moving one hand over Harry's length as he brought his other hand to Harry's mouth. Harry took three fingers in and sucked desperately. "So good," Eric murmured, "such a good boy." Eric pulled his fingers out of Harry's mouth with an obscene pop and moved his hand down to Harry's arsehole. One finger pressed in, explored a bit, and then found the spot and Harry cried out as his dark eyes met Eric's brilliant blue eyes, blown pupils meeting blown pupils.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," Eric groaned, and pressed in a second finger. Harry went almost scarily quiet, his rough gasps the only sound he could make. "So fuckin perfect," as Eric's hands found an obscene rhythm, one hand jerking Harry's cock and the other fucking up into Harry's prostate. Harry whimpered, Eric could see he was trying his hardest, but so soon he was coming in stripes up his stomach and dripping onto Eric's fist as he milked him through his orgasm.

Harry melted into Eric, his chin meeting Eric's shoulder as he sighed and flopped bonelessly forward. Eric gently pulled his fingers out of Harry's hole and moved his come-streaked fist up to the base of Harry's neck. They stayed that way for a long moment, Eric holding up Harry, rocking gently.

After a few minutes, Harry straightened up with a sigh and looked into Eric's eyes. "I'm gonna return the favour." Harry sank to his knees and nosed at Eric's cock, still hard in his pants, and gazed up at Eric, his eyes shining. Eric let out a shaky breath. "Yeah. Yeah, you are. You're perfect."


End file.
